


those that would their true love win

by sear



Series: Tam Lin [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Deal, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, hero!otabek, kidnapped by faeries, well that's no surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-16 09:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13633506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sear/pseuds/sear
Summary: "Ten years. At the end of ten years they come for me. That was the bargain. So I guess, it's less that I'll go away and more that I'll be taken, really," Yuri laughs in a way that is more of a sob.***Staring up at the ceiling that night, unable to sleep, Otabek says to himself, and to the boy in the room next door:“I’ll save you.”





	1. feared it be myself

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Tam Lin by Fairport Convention.  
> *  
> This fic has been a long time in coming! I started it in January 2017, right after binge-watching all of YoI, and falling totally in love. And this fandom <3 There's so much good fic!

They call him the Russian Fairy, and he hates the reminder even though they don’t mean anything by it. Still, that he has a well-known nickname also means that he himself is known, so he’ll take it. As long as he wins, as long as history remembers him.

*

Yuri loves the ice and he love figure skating. He wants that speed and grace himself, but however much he works, pleads with his teachers and his dedushka for extra practice he just doesn’t have that certain something. He will only ever be mediocre. He can skate, backwards and forwards, he can do some of the spins that their age group have been taught. However much he practices though, his skating is not beautiful. It does not captivate. The scouts have already looked past him several times, have already picked a girl a year younger than him for special coaching and Yuri knows, he knows that the window is closing. He is getting too old.

Perhaps he should try to work harder on his math and Russian history. Give up on skating since he so clearly has no talent for it.

*

Yuri does not give up on his dream. Instead he gets desperate. He gets creative.

*

Everyone here but him deserves to be here. They have talent, they have worked, and hurt, and sweated for their places here. He’s taking someone’s spot. But maybe if he works hard enough he can deserve this chance. Yakov’s a harsh taskmaster, but Yuri will take the pain and exhaustion and reforge himself into something great. He will make himself worth his place here.

*

Victor Nikiforov is everything Yuri wants to be as a skater. Strength, grace, beauty. Not that Yuri would ever tell him that, the flighty idiot. He will climb to that pinnacle and then surpass it, aiming to be the summit himself. They are skating at the same rink now, under the same coach. There’s other skaters, too. Georgi who always has to be either in love or heartbroken, but is a good skater all the same. The hag, Mila, who shows him how to put more flair into his jumps.

All bruises and blisters, all the times blinking dazedly up at the lights getting his breath back after landing wrong are finally paying off. At this level skating feels like flying, the way it never did Before. He jumps and it is like he is weightless, like he could step into the air and just not come down. He spins and the world blurs away, everything that is ugly and disappointing lost to the speed. People watch him, because he has that spark, that grace now. It is just as amazing as he always thought it would be. He will fly until the day he dies.

It is also amazing to finally be able to give something back to his family for supporting him. Competitions have finally begun to pay off with prize money, and winning medals brings sponsors and attention. 

*

Yuri reads a lot of fairy tales when he first arrives at St. Petersburg. Tales of impossible tasks and clever heroes who prevail against witches and trolls and the fey. His rinkmates tease him about it, the silent boy always with his head in a book. _Are you here to skate or are you not_ , they ask. In the end, it’s just a phase, he has to live in the real world.

*

That Japanese fake-Yuri has all that natural talent, and he’s throwing it away. It makes a mockery of everyone who has sweated and bled and suffered to get ahead. Who does he think he is? It makes Yuri’s blood boil. Pathetic.

*

It’s that time of year again. As always, he feels unmoored, something that gets worse with every year that passes. Soon he will come unstuck entirely. Right now, he’s not pretending. For as long as this sensation lasts it is impossible to pretend. The ice helps. Now that he has some pull he makes sure to have the rink booked for the day. When he can speed and soar across it – beauty, strength, grace – he can remind himself what it was all for, and that helps. It was worth it. It had to be worth it.

He remembers the first time this happened; he was still so naïve then, a child. The feeling of the world being at once too far away and too sharp, too real, had been so unsettling, but he shrugged it off. His mistake had been trying to get into a car. God, but the metal had burned, and the chemical stink of gas, of the city was nauseating. In the end his dedushka had bundled him up in blankets and tucked him into bed for the rest of the day after that episode.

When the same sensation came again, a year later, he had had an inkling of what it was. A taste of what would come. Now he is an old hand at it. Book the rink. Avoid people. Don’t cross running water. Avoid iron and steel, gloves for handling it when it cannot be avoided – because there is metal everywhere. And people. And running water. But the rink is mostly safe, at least.

This one day he spends entirely on the ice. He plays with new techniques and step-sequences, spins and skates figures until he is dizzy with it. He only leaves the ice to go to the bathroom and to eat a cold lunch, still in his skates by the rinkside. He’s brought a sleeping bag so that he doesn’t have to brave the city.

_One year left._ The sandwich tastes like dust. He puts it down and takes the guards off his skates, gets back on the rink. The ice always helps.

Tomorrow he’ll be pretending again.

*

Beka has become a good friend over the years. Social media, phones, modern technology, whatever, really is amazing at times. They train in separate countries but keep in contact. In the beginning it was mostly small talk, _how did training go?, look, I landed a new jump_ , cute cat videos and sunsets. There’s still that, there will never not be a good time for cute cat videos, if Yuri has any say, but there is also encouragement and concerns about sponsors. Hopes and fears and dreams.

Beka is quiet in the beginning. He’ll always be reserved, and so centered – that’s what Yuri loves about him – but he does open up. In a way texting helped when they were getting to know each other.

_There is no pressure_ , he wrote to Yuri one time, _if I don’t know what to say right away I can think for a little while. I’m not ignoring you._

_It’s ok_ , Yuri replied. _You don’t have to be on with me, just be yourself. I have enough brash idiots who don’t think before they speak in my life already!_ He adds a short video of the Idiot dramatically clinging to Katsudon to the text.

_Thank you_ , Beka replied.

*

Everything hits Yuri on his birthday, going from abstract to too real like a punch to the solar plexus. He’s always remembered, but it’s easy to _not think about it_ until it is not real. In the end, it is a simple text that starts the realisation.

_Happy nineteenth birthday, Yura!_ Beka’s written, and wow, he really is nineteen now. How did that happen? (He knows exactly how it happened. Time, the thief, up to her usual games.)

_Thnx! Look at all the candles on this baby_ :), he replies and adds a group shot of him and his rinkmates around the birthday cake they surprised him with. Everyone’s cheating a little on their strict diets today, but Yakov’s looking the other way. It’s Lilia he’s going to have to watch out for if she catches wind of it.

The cake suddenly sits heavy in his stomach. He slips away to the restroom and locks himself in a stall to quietly freak out. People have been wishing him happy birthday all morning, so why did Beka’s text hit him like a bucket of cold water?

_Happy birthday. Happy birthday. Happy birthday._ The words echo in his head as he clenches his hands into fists. Where did the years go? They’ve slipped away like water through his fingers and what does he have to show for it? He has medals. A few bitter bronze medals, more silver and gold from where he, Katsudon, the two Idiots and Beka have traded places over the years. They are not as shiny as his nine-year-old self imagined they would be.

There is only a few months left. That’s no time at all.

_Can you come visit for a while after worlds?_ he types, and sits staring at the screen until it dies. He unlocks the phone and then viciously presses send and locks it immediately after. _Way to be needy, Yuri,_ he thinks. The phone buzzes with a notification.

_Sure_ , Beka’s written.

The twisty, tight feeling in Yuri’s chest remains, but it doesn’t feel quite so bad any longer.

*

Beka comes in late spring.

It is such a relief to be able to say goodbye.

*

They are sitting on the couch in Yuri’s apartment after a day of practice and a little sightseeing. It is nice to finally have Otabek here now that everything- now that the season is over.

“I have something to tell you,” Yuri says. “I just don’t know how to say it.”

Otabek's wide, dark eyes burns into his. There seems to be a slight flush rising on his face. Yuri drops his gaze and fidgets with the hem of his tiger print sweater, like he had been doing since dinner, trying to work up the courage to speak. This is his biggest secret. Something he’s never spoken of to anyone. He has started, now he just needs to finish it. _Say something, Yuri!_ he thinks.

“We’re friends, right? And I just- I wanted to tell you that- I need you to know- I mean I’m going to… be gone after this summer. June 21st. After June 21st, midsummer, that is. And I wanted you to know that it’s meant a lot to me, our friendship. I’ll miss you.”

Yuri starts out lightly, with a forced calm that unravels towards the end of his explanation. He looks away angrily, blinking. Why had he pulled his hair back? It would have been nice to be able to duck his head and hide behind his fringe. Otabek is so silent. Why doesn’t he say anything?

Making friends had always been a bad idea. _Yuri Plisetsky had the eyes of a soldier,_ Otabek had said all those years ago, in Barcelona. Yuri should have kept that cool, focused gaze and shielded his heart, shielded everyone’s hearts – but once a failure always a failure, apparently.

Otabek still hasn’t said anything. Yuri should leave. He should just stand up and walk out the door right now. Why should Otabek care? They’d only known each other for a few years. Text messages and social media, a scant handful of days meeting in person during various competitions and a couple of visits. Maybe he had misjudged, maybe they weren’t friends like he had thought. Who would care when he disappeared? No one, aside from dedushka, just like he had wanted. But why did that thought burn so much?

Yuri gets up. It’s his apartment but he can go for a walk. Otabek will have left when he gets back.

Yuri gets up but when he turns towards the door Otabek catches him by the arm with almost bruising force. Maybe he does care. Warmth washes through Yuri, and with it another kind of pain. Hope.

“’Going to be gone’? What are you talking about, Yura? Are you ill? In some kind of trouble?” Otabek asks. Yuri turns around to look at him. Otabek’s eyes are focused, expression more serious than usual.

“No, I’m not sick and I’m not in trouble. I’m just… leaving. I made a bargain and now I have to pay what is owed.”

“You made a bargain? With who? The mafiya?” Otabek smiles a little to show that he is trying to lighten the mood.

“The mafiya?!” Yuri snorts a laugh at that. “No.”

Otabek shoulders untenses a little at Yuri’s snort.

“So, you’re not sick, but you’re quitting skating? You’re only nineteen, surely-”

“I’m not just quitting skating, Beka. I mean it, I’ll disappear, I’ll be gone. Poof. Vanished,” Yuri pauses, and then grits his teeth. He owes this to Beka, this and more. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? As long as I’ve know you, Yura, you’ve fought. Against all odds, against injury and exhaustion and expectations. And now you’re just giving up? If you’re not ill and not in legal trouble, then what is it? Can’t anything be done?”

“This isn’t something that can be fought, Beka. And you wouldn’t believe me if I told you why I’m going or where or with whom,” Yuri says and smiles a smile that is more of a grimace.

“So tell me!” Otabek says, grabbing Yuri’s hands. “Whatever this is, it’s obviously serious. Just tell me. I’ll help if I can.”

“Yeah,” Yuri pauses. Otabek will probably think him crazy, but in a way it will be nice to actually tell the truth now that he has no pretences left. Cathartic, and all that. “Yeah, I’ll tell you. Only I don’t quite know how to start. Where to start,” Yuri bites his lips nervously and reclaims his hands from Otabek to pace around the living room like a caged leopard.

“Did you know that I got lost when I was a kid? There was a police investigation and everything, news reports. People thought I had been kidnapped, or that dedushka had killed me or something. It was a huge mess. I was gone for almost a month, but it didn’t feel that long to me. Luckily it was in summer, so I didn’t miss any school or practice or anything. When they asked me where I had been, who had had me I could only say the pretty lady with the ice eyes. In a place far away. That she was kind,” Yuri snorts and smiles that grimace-smile again. “I thought she was kind then. I was too little to understand all the problems I had caused by disappearing, but I understand now. So I’ve tried to make it so that it won’t be so bad when go away again. Only, I’m selfish, Beka. You were my first friend for a reason, and I didn’t think- I didn’t _think_ \- and then you were so hurt when I tried to pull away and now it’s too late. I’ll disappear, Beka. I’ll be gone before summer is over. I’m sorry.”

Yuri paces some more, thankful for Otabek’s silence. This is hard enough as it is; he is glad not to be interrupted. Okay, so he had said precisely nothing with that little harangue. But it feels easier, for having apologised. He can do this.

“My dream, when I was a kid, was to skate like the people on TV. To win medals. To fly and spin across the ice. To be the best in the world! But I wasn’t very good. Hah! That’s an understatement. I was mediocre at best, however much I practiced,” Yuri says. The bitterness of that still stings, trapped beneath the scab of the old wound. He stops his pacing right in front of Otabek and just looks at him. “When we met in Barcelona, when you told me of working, working, working and it not being enough. I know that feeling.” Yuri falls quiet.

“What are you talking about, Yura? You’re Yuri Plisetsky! The Fairy of Russia, Olympic medallist, record holder. There’s more talent in your pinky than most skaters have in their whole bodies,” Otabek says. “I’m sorry. This is obviously hard for you. I just- I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“The Fairy of Russia, I hate that! It’s a reminder,” Yuri says and runs a hand over his eyes. “But no. It’s ok. And what you said is all true, _now_ ,” Yuri puts emphasis enough to crack bone on the last word, wanting to make clear how hopeless he had been Before.

“I didn’t use to have any talent at all, but now I do. I didn’t want to give up on my dream; I refused to give up skating or settling for it being a hobby. So I made a deal. I bargained for world-level athletic talent and I got it. Suddenly I was good. I was amazing! I could nail my jumps, people took notice, I got sponsors and scholarships. But Beka, you have to believe me, all the work, all the practice to make something out of that talent, that’s been me! I swear I didn’t cheat in that way, I never bargained for straight golds or to rig the competitions or anything like that. Just to get a chance to compete,” Yuri says with increasing desperation and takes off pacing again. Five steps, spin, then five steps the other way, repeat.

The springs in the old sofa creaks. Otabek takes him lightly by the shoulders and steers him back to sit down. He collapses more than sits, and puts his head in his hands, the very picture of dejection.

“I believe you. I’ve seen your blisters and injuries and your hard work. Haven’t I been one of the people telling you to slow down sometimes, even? I’d never think you could cheat, Yura. You want to beat people honestly and then grind their faces in that defeat forever,” Otabek smiles a little amusedly at him but then continues speaking, more gravely. “So you bargained for talent and got it. With whom and what did you bargain?”

“That’s the part of the story that ties into my disappearance when I was a kid. I wasn’t just rambling, it actually had some significance. All the significance. I was nine years old. It was early summer and me and dedushka were visiting relatives in the countryside. School had let out and Moscow is unbearable in summer. I had a plan. I figured I could have everything for a little while or nothing for forever… only it wouldn’t have been forever, either. You know me, Beka, without skating I reckon I would be in prison by now, and how long would I have survived that? And I don’t regret it. Mostly. There’s so many things I wouldn’t have gotten to do or see without the bargain,” Yuri says and looks Otabek dead in the eye, serious. “I wouldn’t have gotten to meet you, and…

“But I’m stalling. It’s like my mind shies away from speaking about this. The edges are too sharp. Anyway, on the night of midsummer I went into the woods by the lake. I found the ring of mushrooms like the stories said and I placed my offering in the middle – store-bought bread and honey, ha! – and then they came. The Queen of Faeries and her Court. I hadn’t really believed, before, but what else could they have been? Who else could _she_ have been? I still can’t describe them, or her, or that place where they took me, just the bare shape of it, the vaguest idea. It was terrifying. God, she is _so terrifying_!” Yuri says and then has to sit and focus on breathing very, very evenly for a little while. Otabek waits.

“Ten years. At the end of ten years they come for me. That was the bargain. So I guess, it’s less that I’ll go away and more that I’ll be taken, really,” Yuri laughs in a way that is more of a sob.

Otabek turns more towards him on the sofa and raises his hands, then lowers them, then raises them again and gathers Yuri to his chest in a tight embrace. Yuri trembles like he is going to shake apart, like he has been submerged in icy water. His head hurts and suddenly he feels exhausted, as if he has skated his heart out and is only now allowed to collapse to his knees to gasp for air. Otabek is warm and his arms are tight around Yuri’s back. Yuri speaks, hiding his face against Otabek’s chest.

“You believe me?”

“I do believe you,” Otabek says and then continues in a lower, almost pained voice. “I almost wish that I didn’t, though.”

Yuri doesn’t cry at that because he refuses to cry, he’s not some cry-baby. He hasn’t cried since he was a child. It just becomes a little hard to breathe, and his eyes burn. He blinks furiously and ducks his head lower against Otabek. They sit like that for a while longer before going to bed.

*

Staring up at the ceiling that night, unable to sleep, Otabek says to himself, and to the boy in the room next door:

“I’ll save you.”


	2. as fast as go can he

By some unspoken agreement, Yuri and Otabek don’t go to the rink the day after, instead they eat breakfast and talk about inconsequential things. It is a forced lightness that cannot last. They fall silent, Otabek looking at Yuri and Yuri studiously staring into his cold tea and tearing a leftover piece of bread into tiny, tiny pieces.

“Is there a way to save you?” Otabek asks.

“No. Or, I haven’t found one at least. It’s not exactly a common problem. People would think I was crazy if I talked about it. In fact, I don’t get why you don’t,” Yuri replies.

“You don’t lie, Yura. And it was just too far-fetched, too unbelievable, to be a lie,” Otabek says, wry. “Does your grandfather know?”

“No! No. I don’t know how to tell him. ‘By the way, your stupid, problematic grandson has gotten himself into another mess’? I didn’t even want to get you involved! It’s too dangerous-“

The chair falls with a crash as Otabek stands up abruptly. He leans on his hands against the table, looming over Yuri.

“You didn’t want to get me involved?! I want to be involved! And I definitely think that your grandfather would want to know, as well. How selfish can you be, Yura? You have people who care about you, who would be hurt if you disappeared,” Otabek all but spits out. Yuri looks at him, wide-eyed.

A little sheepishly Otabek rights the chair and sits back down.

“Sorry. That was unnecessary.”

“No, you’re right, you don’t have to apologize.” Yuri sighs. “I’ve been selfish and, well… scared. I tried to find a way out of it, but I couldn’t, so then I just hid. I pretended everything was fine, that I was normal, that I never made the bargain. Tried to put it out of my mind. I’ve always been a troublesome grandson. And you don’t deserve to be dragged into this mess either.”

“I still want to help,” Otabek says, calm but implacable. “And I do think you should tell your grandfather. He deserves to know.”

“Ok. So I guess we’re doing this then. If we’re manage to get train tickets for today we can be in Moscow by tonight. When can you be ready to go?”

*

They do in fact manage to get tickets for the same day and Mila agrees to take care of Yuri’s cat. Nikolai Plisetsky is a bit nonplussed at the sudden visit, but he still comes to pick them up.

*

The atmosphere at the dinner table that night is tense. Nikolai talks about his day and asks about Otabek’s season and what Yuri has been up to but Yuri is nearly monosyllabic and Otabek is quiet by nature. In the end, they all eat in silence and Yuri gets up to do the dishes as soon as he’s done eating, making his escape to the kitchen. He’s already told Otabek. Surely it should be easier the second time? It is not.

Up to his elbows in suds and halfway through washing a pot Yuri spins on his heel and stomps out of the kitchen.

“I bargained with the Faerie Queen and they’re coming for me this midsummer,” he says belligerently, dishwater dripping from his fingers. His grandfather looks at him, then stands and hugs him.

“Oh, you fool child, it is never wise to get involved with the Kindly Ones” he says sadly into Yuri’s golden hair. “Yurochka, why?”

“I wanted to skate. I wasn’t good enough,” Yuri says and then tells his grandfather everything.

*

“I had a sister once. Beautiful Yekaterina. Reckless, beloved Yekaterina. We lived in the countryside then, and she loved nature. She was always outdoors when she could. She had the luck of the devil himself, or that of the fey, but one summer night she just disappeared. People talked, of course. They said she’d been stung by a serpent and that we’d had to send her away or that she’d gone to the city to find work. Not Katya, she wouldn’t give the village boys a second look, and she hated the city! And when I looked for her, I found the flowers she’d picked, dropped in a clearing, and hoofprints all around,” Nikolai tells them, eyes far away.

“You mean…?” Yuri asks, but doesn’t know how to finish the question.

“Yes. At least that’s what I’ve always believed. And there’s always been tales. A pretty daughter gone. Someone’s uncle vanished without explanation. She was fair haired, like you. They like golden hair, it is said.”

A shiver goes down Yuri’s back and he scrubs his hands through his hair violently to banish the sense-memory of slender fingers caressing it. Jerkily he twists it up into a bun and flips the hood of his sweater over his head, despite the fact it is rude. He hunches down over the table.

“Can we do anything?” Otabek asks.

“Maybe, but it will be hard. Firstly, have you spoken of this outside?” Nikolai asks.

“No! I’m not entirely stupid. I’ve made sure to always be within home and hearth,” Yuri says. Otabek turns to look questioningly at him. Yuri continues: “The Queen of Air and Darkness, whom I bargained with, can hear every word spoken after dark, Beka. And the Queen of Light and Illusion can hear every word spoken in the light of day. Unless you take precautions, of course. That’s why I wouldn’t speak of this on the train today. It seemed foolish to, if she could hear everything we said.”

“Good. At least you have some sense in that head of yours. But wait, you bargained with the Winter Queen on midsummer? I thought she was powerless then?” Nikolai asks.

“Yes, I bargained with Her. She said that there is always winter somewhere so she can never be entirely powerless. She came because she wondered who ‘longed so fiercely for ice and cold in the middle of summer,’” Yuri answers.

“Oh. Hm.” Nikolai muses. “Now, exactly what did you bargain, Yurochka?”

“I said that I wanted to be good enough at skating to be able to compete and win. She laughed,” Yuri shudders at the memory of that tinkling, utterly inhuman sound. “Then she said something along the lines that if I wanted to compete, then she could only give me talent and that I would have to hone it myself. So I said of course I wanted to compete, I wanted to win by myself. ‘Then talent you will have, little mortal, equal to that of the greatest skater,’ she said, ‘but that talent is ours after ten years.’”

The last thing Yuri says has the ring of a quote to it, and the words seem heavy, binding. Filled with intent and power, even when repeated. He does not like uttering those words again. Like yesterday, remembering that encounter gives him a headache. There is a reason, beyond the hopelessness of the situation, as to why he has avoided thinking about that night as much as he has been able to. It hurts. Without thinking why, he turns to Otabek beside him.

“Would you-?” he begins to say. _Ask. It helped yesterday so just ask_ , he thinks, but it is embarrassing and Yuri has long grown used to pushing people away, not inviting them in.

“Would I what?” Otabek asks.

“Wouldyouhugmepleasebeka?” he manages to force out. His face feels hot enough to fry an egg on, so he ducks his head and looks at Otabek out of the corner of his eye. Otabek stills and then something changes in his expression. His chair makes a startlingly loud sound as he scoots closer and drapes an arm around Yuri’s shoulders. It is warm, in fact Otabek is a warm line against the whole side of his body. Tension floods out of Yuri and he slumps a little against Otabek at its release.

“Thanks,” he says in a low voice, still embarrassed.

Nikolai clears his throat, but he is smiling a little.

“She didn’t specify more? Other than that your talent would be theirs?” he asks.

“No,” Yuri answers, and breathes out forcefully, annoyed.

“Am I missing something?” Otabek asks.

“Only that my nine-year-old self was an idiot, but we’ve already established that.”

“What Yurochka means to say is that by not asking the Queen to specify, anything could happen to him. That the wording is so open makes it harder, in a way, to counter,” Nikolai fills in. “But it is getting late. We can begin to search for answers tomorrow.”

*

Lying in the darkness of Yuri’s childhood bedroom, not quite comfortable on the extra mattress on the floor, sleep is slow in coming.

“Yura?”

“Mm?”

“You were not an idiot. You were a child. Don’t beat yourself up over an old mistake.”

*

The next day is a lovely spring day, perfect for being outdoors and enjoying the weather. Instead they boot up Yuri’s computer while Nikolai pulls out a veritable mountain of dusty old books, mostly about mythology and folk-tales. Yuri recognises many of the books from when he was still trying to find a way out of this. From before he lost hope. Nikolai also turns his drawers inside out before he finds a shabby notebook full of phone numbers.

The three of them spend the day poring over the books. Nikolai makes a few phone-calls, as well, some of them ending with a “My condolences,” others ending with him closing the door to his bedroom and talking for a while. In the end they have nothing much to show for their efforts.

“I’m sorry, Yurochka. We’ll keep looking, but most tales simply caution not to bargain with the fae, or how to avoid them, or tell of what they fear…” Nikolai says.

“And it is ten years too late for that. There is nothing to be done, is there?” Yuri asks, but it is not a question, not really. He already knows the answer. _This is good_ , he tells himself, _now I can lay this final hope to rest before it consumes me_.

“I can’t accept that,” Otabek says and stalks out of the apartment without coat, cell phone, wallet or anything.

*

They stay in Moscow for a couple of days more, looking through the books, Otabek with fervour, Nikolai more methodically and Yuri resignedly. On the fourth day Yakov calls and yells about his top skater up and leaving without a word. Practice, new routines, costumes. Yuri sits with his eyes closed, his hand clenched to white-knuckled fists, and pretends, pretends, pretends.

Yuri and Otabek go back to St. Petersburg the day after that. On the train, Otabek calls his coach, and talks about extending his stay in Russia until midsummer. Yakov is well known, and against the promise to practice and think about a new program he gets permission to stay. When Yuri asks why he’s staying Otabek says that he will see this through. Either he will be able to stop it or he will be there until the end.

*

Yuri throws himself back into practice. It feels utterly futile since he knows that he will not be skating the next season, or any season for that matter, but as always, the ice helps. He got himself into this mess for love of skating, so skate he will, until it is over. Yakov seems pleased at his dedication, which is a plus since it makes for smoother practices. Otabek practices, too, though maybe less diligently.

*

They are sitting by the rinkside one day when the Yuri brings up the irony of the situation.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? I think you should practice more, Beka. You’ll actually be competing this fall. Right now I have you beat for practice time, and I’m not even going to skate next season,” Yuri says, but doesn’t add: _or any season, for that matter_.

Otabek doesn’t smile, not even close. He looks upset.

“It’s not funny,” he pauses. “I’m practicing less because I’m still looking for a way to get you out of this. I’ve been going to the library.” Since they are in public Otabek carefully doesn’t mention any particulars of what he is looking for.

“You’re wasting your time, Beka. There is nothing to be found,” Yuri says. They have approached this argument many times in the last weeks. Yuri still doesn’t get. Some things can’t be done.

“It’s my choice to do this and I won’t give up. Don’t ask me to. I’ll never stop looking,” Otabek says and then they both startle as Mila comes up behind them and leans her weight on their shoulders.

“Look for what?” she asks.

If Yuri had been anyone else he might have tried for a polite lie or some other evasion. He does not, instead he spits out:

“None of your business, hag!”

After that the conversation descends into squabbling. That is just the way they interact, him and Mila. The only difference is that this time he feels oddly guilty for snapping at her. He doesn’t like it.

*

Time, as always, is contrary. It crawls when one wants it to run and flies swiftly when one dreads what is to come. Early summer is gorgeous, even in the city, filled with light and greenery. It is almost midsummer.

Otabek has taken to lining the apartment with salt and iron nails and has given Yuri a medallion of iron forged in seawater to wear. It feels like a last-ditch attempt to Yuri, but he wears it, and doesn’t clean the salt up.

It has been nice to share an apartment. Yuri is surprised. Usually he doesn’t like people in his space. He is very much a cat-person like that. For all that he has accepted his fate, it is still nice to have Otabek there. Less lonely. And it helps when Yuri’s acceptance wears away and he gets scared. When he can fight through the embarrassment he asks for hugs and the fear recedes a little.

It is one of those times and it feels good to be held, but Yuri doesn’t get why Otabek is staring so much at him lately. Suddenly uncomfortable, he extricates himself from the embrace and mutters something about groceries before leaving the apartment. He doesn’t see Otabek’s shoulders slump as he goes.

*

The last bit of time slips away and midsummer arrives, rainy and miserable. The weather seems appropriate. Yuri feels worn out from too much worry, despite his resignation. If even Yakov looks frowning at him in practice and tries to send him home he figures it must be bad. He refuses. Otabek has already given up on trying to pry him from the rink, and instead puts on a brave face and makes practice into a game. They chase each other and skate improvised, silly pair routines until the other skaters join them and practice is derailed into impromptu competitions. It is fun while it lasts.

In the evening, Yuri calls his grandfather and they speak for a long time. Otabek checks and rechecks the line of salt and iron. After dinner, he and Otabek sit in the living room and try to talk. They are both at once tense and worn out. After a while Yuri contents himself with petting his cat and leaning against Otabek while Otabek talks about Almaty and leaving home and living away from his family. Neither of them want to sleep, not now, but after dinner the sofa is so soft and the lights dim, they are tired, it is warm, it is soft… they are tired… tired…

There is light coming for him, the scent if crisp winter air, joyous laughter, the baying of hounds, chiming bells. Someone is holding his hand, holding him back from all that glory, but Yuri slips the stifling grip and

is

_gone._


	3. an earthly knight

Otabek wakes the morning after midsummer with a crick in his neck. He has a vague memory of light and tinkling merry laughter. Yuri is gone. He feels hollowed out.

He looks though the apartment, but there are no signs of how… whatever it was got in, or Yuri got out. Except… Yuri’s gym bag is gone, along with his usual training clothes and a fresh towel. The salt is a little disturbed by the door.

Otabek snatches up his keys and cell phone and tears off to the rink. It takes an eternity to get there, but when he checks his watch, he has never been quicker. He hurries through the building, into the rink itself and there, lacing up his skates, is a familiar figure.

“Yura?” Otabek whispers, and then shouts: “Yura!” Yuri is here. It worked! Of course he would go to the rink. Otabek feels like something light and bubbling is filling is chest and he can’t help but smile. Yuri turn and meets his eyes and all that lightness changes to lead. Otabek could have been looking at a doll, or a photograph, for all the life in Yuri’s eyes. It simply is not him. Now that Otabek is looking more closely he can see all the inconsistencies, the way he… the way it holds its body, the expression on its face, the fact that it has not answered him yet.

“Yuri?” Otabek tries again.

“Morning, Beka. Why the hurry?” the thing that is not Yuri says casually. Then it is as if Otabek loses a little time, because suddenly he is just standing right before the thing, gripping its shoulders. It is cold to the touch.

 “What have you done to him? Where is he?” Otabek growls out. The thing looks surprised for a moment and then it smiles a smile full of sharp teeth. It is a cruel, amused expression.

“And wouldn’t you like to know, little knight?” it lilts out, still smiling that caricature of a smile. Voices echo through the rink as other skaters come for practice and the thing steps back from Otabek and blanks its expression into something more Yuri-like.

“Yuri! Otabek! Good morning!” Mila greets them with a sunny smile. “Yesterday was fun! You don’t always have to practice like it’s the GP Final tomorrow!”

“Morning, hag,” the thing says, with appropriate surliness, but it rings just slightly false. Otabek waits for her to say something, to ask what the hell is wrong with Yuri, but she doesn’t. She just smiles, and prepares for practice, like it’s any other day. Like everything is alright.

“I… I have to go,” Otabek gets out and leaves.

“But… practice? Otabek?” Mila calls out behind him.

*

Otabek calls Yuri’s grandfather.

“They’ve taken him,” he says, numbly. “I thought maybe I’d done it, because his gym bag was gone, but the thing at the rink wasn’t him. It just looked like him, on the surface. Is there nothing else to be done?”

Nikolai is silent for a while before he replies.

“But you could tell, that it was not Yuri, then?”

“No. It was all… wrong. But it is pretending to be, and Mila wasn’t able to tell. How could she not tell?! That thing is like… it’s like a wax doll, but just off-“ Otabek shudders at the memory. Whatever it was it wore Yuri like a badly fitted suit.

“I think that you already know why you could tell it was not Yuri anymore,” he says a little sadly, and Otabek does, god help him but he does. It hurts.

“Can I get him back?” he asks, a little wildly.

“I don’t know, but if it is possible it will certainly be dangerous, and not just to your body. There are fates worse than death. Think carefully before you attempt anything, Otabek,” Nikolai cautions.

“I don’t care.”

*

He had almost forgotten about the Cat. Yuri liked it, and liked Otabek (presumably), so they tolerated each other, he and the Cat. It comes slinking now, only the second time that it has approached him. He remembers the only other time that it did. Yuri had just left yet again when Otabek couldn’t keep the heat from his expression or his eyes away from Yuri’s lips. He was still staring at the closed door when the Cat had jumped up on the counter beside him. Then it had spoken and Otabek had startled almost clear out of his skin.

“He cannot help it, you know,” the Cat had said. “They took his heart. He used to be different when he was a kitten.” It had then leapt down from the counter and pretended that it had never spoken and proceeded to haughtily ignore Otabek in the manner of cats everywhere.

This time the Cat twines around his legs to get his attention.

“Stupid Human, you will help me get My Human back,” it says. Here and now Otabek is a little better prepared for it to speak, so he doesn’t startle quite as much.

“How?” Otabek asks what feels like his most uttered word over the last few weeks.

“First you must get to Faerie, of course,” the Cat says, like it is the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re too big for my usual way, though,” it sniffs, like its Otabek’s fault he is human-sized.

A way into Faerie. He’s read a lot of folktales and lore lately, looking for a way to prevent Yuri from being taken. Has he read anything about this? He can’t remember. He paces around the kitchen, feeling at once agitated and useless.

There is a tree, by the Neva river, old and hollowed out but still alive. Now it stands out to him in memory. An in-between place, a border between land and flowing water, life and death.

With renewed purpose he starts packing. He wants to be gone soon, before the Thing wearing Yuri gets back.

“Will you be coming with me, or will you meet me there?” he asks the Cat before he leaves. Silently the Cat comes with him.

*

Having stepped through the tree trunk, Otabek comes to with the Cat sitting on his chest. He is not in the city any more. Despite having hoped for this, he is surprised. He is lying on the ground in an old-growth forest. It is tangled, full of dead-falls, standing dead trees, and trees of different ages, the way such woods are. The air here is pure, purer than anything he has ever breathed. He gets up and looks around, then tries to gauge where south is based on the position of the sun. He will simply have to start walking, since he has no idea where he is or even where he is going, but he would rather not walk in circles.

“Do you have any idea where to go, Cat?” he asks. The Cat huffs. “Well then, north it is.”

*

They walk.

*

It had been midmorning when they had passed into Faerie, and seemed to be about the same time of day when he woke up. Now the sun is lower in the sky, but as his watch has stopped working he doesn’t know for how long they have been walking, he and the Cat. They are following a stream roughly north, but the wood doesn’t change.

It is rough going, since there are no tracks, and he has to dodge branches and trunks and sometimes climb over fallen trees. The Cat just laughs at him, leaping lightly, or crawling under the obstacles. It is still pleasant, however. The air is warm and full of birdsong. It feels good to do something physical after all the stress lately.

The birds fall silent.

The Cat stops.

Otabek stops, tense.

From somewhere ahead he can hear a horn and something running through the woods. He and the Cat duck low and keep still next to a tree. The sounds come closer and soon he can see hounds and then a rider on a magnificent white horse.

They are headed right at him and the Cat.

He could run, but it seems like he has already been discovered. He also doubts that he would be able to get away. The Cat has other thoughts, and scrambles up the tree.

The hounds surround him, barking, but keep their distance.

The rider halts her horse a few paces from him and calls the hounds to heel. He studies her and she studies him back. Her clothes remind him of something like hunting gear from a period piece, dun and green cloth and leather. She is carrying bow and arrows and has a dagger at her hip. Her one frivolity is some kind of pink flower stuck behind her ear. She is young, maybe mid-teens, but her whole bearing speaks of authority, a surety in herself that he has rarely seen in someone so young. She is very beautiful, certainly, but it is a human beauty. In fact… she looks a little bit like Yuri. The same shade of hair, something around her cheekbones and eyes.

“Yekaterina?” he chances. “Yekaterina Plisetsky?”

She freezes, then launches herself off her horse at him and puts her hand over his mouth. They both topple to the ground in an undignified heap. Closer up her eyes are just as green as Yuri’s, and filled with agitation. She stares him down.

“Shh!” she hisses. “Where did you hear that name? Be careful with names here!”

He looks at her, her hand still over his mouth, until breathes out a little huff of air and releases him. Her grip is strong as she hauls him to his feet.

“But you are her?” he asks, when they’ve both dusted themselves off.

“…yes. Who wants to know?” her eyes are narrow with suspicion. He notes that her hand hovers close to her hip where the dagger sits. Before her warning about names he would guilelessly have given her his own – and is ‘giving’ not an apt choice of words here in Faerie – but her strong reaction made him recall some of what he’s read. 

“You can call me Qaharman,” Otabek settles on. “And what should I call you?”

“Hero, huh? You certainly seem rash enough for one. I am known as Nevinnyy here,” she replies. “And well, you’re greener than a new spring leaf, that much is obvious, with you heading straight towards the Summer Court without a care in the world. What worthy task have you set yourself to then, Qa-har-man?” she asks, a little mockingly.

“I’m saving someone from the ruler of the other court. You might be of help, Nevinnyy.”

“Why?” she asks. “There is always someone getting in trouble with our fair sovereigns. Why should I care?”

“You might ask who it is that I’m saving, for one. If you are indeed she whose name I said before, then it is your grandnephew that I am rescuing, your brother Kolya’s grandson.”

“Oh,” Yekaterina Plisetsky says.

*

When he’s told her the story of what Yuri has done and how he’s come to be here, she throws her hands in the air and stalks around the fire she’s made, swearing all the while.

“Fools, the both of you!” she ends the tirade with, and stands facing him, her hands on her hips. “You’re like a baby! How will you make it? …well, you have come this far, but still! A stupid, stupid baby!”

The Cat, who has dared come down, snickers at this. Otabek feels insulted, and is about to say so when she starts to speak again.

“I’ll have to help you. For family. Stupid,” she mutters the last word. “Firstly, you don’t ever, ever give your True Name, or use anyone else’s! If you do the first, you’re dead, or rather someone’s slave or meat-suit. If you do the second, you had better know what to do with it, or they’ll kill you. You should be glad I’m so forgiving! Secondly, don’t accept anything unless it’s either freely given, and the being giving it to you says so in exactly those terms, or unless you have paid for it or won it fairly in a competition. Don’t eat or drink anything, unless you’ve bought it! Be polite. Be very, very polite! More polite than you have been to me, at the very least, stupid boy.”

“I’ll be careful. Thank you, Nevinnyy,” he says, chastised.

She sighs explosively. “And don’t thank anyone! At all! Ever!”

“…you have my gratitude?” he tries, but she still looks displeased. “It was kind of you to give me such advice?” At that she nods.

“Good enough,” she says. “Now, if you’ll come with me I can help you get to the Winter Lands, but no more than so, I’m afraid. I cannot go beyond the Summer Court or the part of the Weald that I ward.”

*

They leave with the early morning mist swirling around their legs. Yekaterina leads her horse, the Cat sits perched in the saddle, and the hounds lope ahead. She points out birds and fey and sprites as they walk, and he sees her wonder for nature that Yuri’s grandfather had mentioned.

“I never asked, Nevinnyy, but how did you come to be here?”

“Oh, I got swept up in the Hunt, and then I never cared to go back. Since I didn’t bargain and wasn’t taken, abducted that is, I had a good position. I am Marchwarden now. I care for this part of the woods, act as sentinel and ride with the Hunt. It is more than a poor girl from Soviet could have hoped for. I am happy,” she says, and she does indeed seem content. She walks with sure steps over the forest ground, picking the easies path yet never losing her way. She seems so knowledgeable of these woods and their inhabitants.

“Kolya looked for you,” Otabek says.

“Dear Kolya,” she muses with a smile. “He married then? He must have, to have a grandson. If you get back, you must tell him of me. Tell him his big sister sends her regards and her felicitations.”

A chill goes down Otabek’s spine. ‘If’ _he gets back? Not ‘_ when’ _?_ But there was no slyness in her when she said that, she was merely talking, and that made her unthinking choice of words even more unsettling.

*

A bit past midday, Yekaterina starts walking more carefully. They are nearing the Summer Court, she explains, and it would be best if he passed unknown.

The Weald begins to thin out, growing lighter and less dense. Then they pass a thick border-zone and emerge in a meadow. The grass is dotted with the same pink flowers that Yekaterina has stuck behind her ear and their perfume, mingling with that of green grass, fills the air. Beyond, there lies a clear blue lake and beyond that a shining white castle, like something out of a fairy tale.

“Behold! The Summer Court!” Yekaterina says and gestures grandly to it all. “And hope they don’t behold you,” she adds with a smirk.

They cross the meadow, and Yekaterina is careful that he walk ducked low, with her horse between him and the Court at all times. They reach the lakeshore and she stops.

“We part ways here. Take this, it is freely given and might be of some use to you,” she says and kisses his forehead, tucks the pink flower behind his ear and presses something into his hands. One of her daggers. “Good luck with you quest.”

He stares at her blankly, and she stares back, impatient.

“Well, go on then!” she motions towards the lake. “Are you going or are you not?”

“I’m going. Tha- … I mean, it has been kind of you to escort me this far,” Otabek says and she nods appreciatively at his save.

He wades out into the water, the Cat clinging, unhappy and hissing, to his backpack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to my google-fu _Qaharman_ is kazakh for _hero_ , and _Nevinnyy_ is russian for _innocent_.


	4. those that would

This crossing is if anything rougher than the previous one, if nothing else then for the fact that he comes to in a freezing cold lake. He gets a mouthful of water and flails until he manages to fight his way to the surface. The water is so cold that it feels like pain. This is bad. This is really bad. If he doesn’t get to shore and into dry clothes soon all this rescuing business will be moot; he will die of hypothermia.

Thankfully, he wasn’t too far from the shore. He stumbles his way onto land and opens his backpack with numb fingers. It is a sturdy thing in next-to-waterproof material, and he had it zipped tight so while not exactly dry, its content are far better than the sopping wet clothes he is currently shivering in.

Soon Otabek has three small fires crackling and is snug in dry clothes. He has rigged his wet clothes up to dry around the fires and they are steaming in the cold air. He rubs energetically at his hair with a dry shirt. Something falls into his lap. It is the flower that Yekaterina gave him, bedraggled and wet he tucks it back behind is ear. He has already fastened her dagger at his belt; a blade might be of some use.

The landscape in the Winter realm is bleak. A cutting wind is soughing across the tundra. Where to go now? Aside from the eerily still lake behind him, there are no landmarks. The sky is overcast, a milky white that diffuses the light so that Otabek cannot tell the position of the sun. He has nothing to navigate by.

The Cat is nowhere to be seen, either. Then Otabek hears a scuffle.

“Thief!” the Cat hisses.

Indeed, there is a thief. A small, grey creature that looks something like a cross between a toad and a potato. The Cat has it pinned to the ground. It looks shiftily at Otabek, cheeks bulging with stolen bread.

“Yield! Help! Mercy!” it croaks around its mouthful.

“You come to my fire. You invade my privacy. You steal my food. Why should I not let my companion have you?” Otabek asks.

“Bad, bad, bad,” the creature mutters to itself, but doesn’t answer. Otabek thinks he understands tactic – he is a mortal, a stranger, so why commit to anything?

"Promise to answer three of my questions honestly, and we will let you go,” Otabek says.

The creature looks offended, and then pained as the Cat flexes its claws. It nods grudgingly.

“This one promises,” it says.

“Good. How do I get safely to the castle of the Winter Court? How long will it take? And how do I return to the mortal realm from there?” Otabek asks.

*

The landscape remains deceptively flat, but just as the toad creature said, they reach a frozen river after half a day of walking. Yet again Otabek and the Cat make camp. This time Otabek lays down a line of salt around the campsite.

*

It feels deeply unreal to lace up his skates. This is what he has done every day for close to twenty years, it is his life, but to do it under these circumstances… It is a mix of the familiar and the utterly alien, and all the stranger for it.

Then, with the Cat once again perched on his backpack, Otabek sets out on the river. He might not have touring skates, but skating is still far quicker than walking. Gradually he relaxes into the familiar burn of skating. The landscape, limned in pale early sunlight, flows past. The river stretches ahead of him like a band of silver.

He travels for three days and sleeps in circles of salt by the river of ice for three nights. Little by little, the landscape changes from tundra to a forest made of pillars of ice and at last into mountains. The ice river remains as uncannily smooth as ever.

Halfway through the fourth day the ravine Otabek is skating through drops away to a valley far below. The river plunges to the bottom of the valley in a frozen cascade. A castle of bluish ice, reflecting the clear sky above, sits by a perfectly frozen lake, a mirror image of the vibrant Summer Court.

Otabek has arrived at the Winter Court. Now he only has to find his way down into the valley below.

It is nearly full dark by the time Otabek has climbed down the mountainside. Wearily he laces up his skates again and sets off towards the Winter Castle.

Tiredness and relief at finding his goal makes Otabek incautious. He is too late in taking note of the approaching chime of bells, and only reacts when someone calls out to him.

“Who goes there? You trespass on the Queen of Winter’s lands!”

Otabek turns to look but doesn’t stop. It is a rider, similarly outfitted to Yekaterina Plisetsky, on a grey horse that seems to almost disappear against the snow. He has no hounds with him and for that Otabek is grateful.

Otabek cannot stop now. This warden will have no interest in helping him along. Instead Otabek puts his head down and builds up as much speed as his figure skates will allow. He quickly outpaces the rider who is slowed by the deep snow on the riverbank. Behind him sounds a horn.

The last days in the Winter Realm have been high-skied, clear and nearly blindingly bright. Following the horn call, the wind picks up with unnatural speed, and dark clouds gather. Shortly, Otabek is fighting to keep skating through a howling winter gale, near blinded by falling snow. He struggles on towards the lake and the castle ahead. There is no other way. The temperature has dropped dangerously and with the added wind-chill he either dies or finds shelter soon. The Cat huddles around his neck like a living fur collar.

Finally, he can see a light through the whirling snow. The last stretch feels unending.

Otabek fumbles with the latch on the door with fingers frozen stiff and painful even through his gloves. As soon as he gets the door open the Cat takes off into the comparative warmth. Otabek follows, stumbling.

It is a stable. A long row of boxes lines the walls. Some of the horses stretch their heads out over the doors to their boxes and wicker at him. All of them are just as beautiful as the warden’s mount, shimmering pearl-grey with intelligent eyes.

Otabek sleeps there for the night, curled up in the straw next to one of the mares. After a while she also lays down to rest, deeming him safe.

*

Come morning, the unnatural storm has passed. Otabek sneaks out to investigate, well aware that he sticks out like a sore thumb. The Cat takes off on its own, quicker and better able to blend in.

Despite a few close calls, Otabek goes unnoticed, but come evening he is no closer to finding Yuri. He is just about to return to the stable for the night, when the Cat comes slinking back to him.

“I have found him, Stupid Human,” it says, and scales him like a tree, returning to its usual perch. “He is with the Cold Ones, walking down from the castle.”

Indeed, a group of Winter Fey are on their way down to the lake. They are beautiful and perfect and entirely inhuman. No mortal supermodel or movie star, however airbrushed, could ever compare. They are gilded by the warm hues of the setting sun, but Otabek has seen them going about the Court all day and they are cold, cold, cold. Interspersed with all the alien beauty are a few distinctly mortal forms. Otabek finally spots Yuri, near the head of the group. He sneaks after them, and hides a bit away, by the edge of the lake.

Down by the lake, a great show is made of procuring chairs for the Court. Once everyone is seated Yuri bows and skates out on the lake. He takes a starting position in front of the most elaborate chair, occupied by a Faerie maiden crowned with icicles. The Winter Queen.

Otabek has never seen Yuri skate so well, not even in his Olympics winning performance from last year. It is technically brilliant, every last rough edge smoothed out. It is also utterly soulless, entirely devoid of passion and personality. Otabek might as well be watching an animation or a very life-like doll. It is deeply unsettling.

When Yuri’s performance is over, he remains in his ending position, arms reaching for the sky. The glittering throng moves slowly towards the castle, laughing gaily and making merry. Still Yuri remains. Otabek is puzzled, but when he shifts position he can see the light catch on Yuri’s still form. Yuri has been frozen in a thin layer of ice, preserved until next called upon to entertain. It is beyond words to imagine him standing there for days, months, years. A plaything of limited amusement value.

Once the last of the courtiers are out of sight Otabek scrambles out on to ice. Up close Yuri looks even more eerie. There is hoarfrost in his eyelashes and he is staring blindly ahead. Shaking him makes no difference, it is like trying to move a stone statue. The Cat even tries to scratch him, but its claws skids off the ice.

Otabek cups Yuri’s cold cheek in his hand and is about to lean in when a slender hand clamps down on his shoulder in a cold vice. Otabek is jerked around, face to face with the Fae Warden from yesterday.

“You dare trifle with my Queen’s property?” the Fae hisses.

It is as if a madness descends over Otabek on hearing Yuri described as _property_. In a flash he has freed himself from the unyielding grip and punched the Warden. Distantly he notices both his hand and his shoulder hurting.

“Don’t speak of him like that!” he snarls at the Fae at his feet.

That is when he feels the sharp tip of a blade at the small of his back. There are of course more Fae guards, armed with halberds. Otabek is dragged away, up to the castle and then down into the dungeons, by that brutal inhuman strength. That night he spends huddled directly on the ice floor of the cell. Even the Cat seems less haughty at this setback.

*

The following morning Otabek is marched before the Winter Court. The great hall is line with Winter Fae of the Court, staring at him, whispering to each other. At the head of hall, she sits, the Fae Queen of Winter. She regards him dispassionately. She makes him wait for a good while. The Cat makes itself smaller under the weight of her gaze but Otabek steels his spine and stokes his anger.

“We are told you trespass, mortal. We are told you have harmed Our subjects. We are told you attempt to take that which is not yours,” she speaks, implacable as a glacier.

Otabek remains silent. She has asked no question. A sliver of a smile touches the Queen’s pale lips. It does not bode well.

“That makes you a thief as well as a trespasser,” she continues. “Still, you have made it this far. What is your business here, thief?”

“I would return to the mortal realm with the skater who preformed yesterday evening, us free of any Faerie influence,” Otabek states.

Whispers sweep through the Court at his bluntness. The Queen silences them with a look, as cutting as the gale she summoned two days before.

“Bold demands! Why should I grant them?”

“Would you care for a wager, Cold Queen? I myself am almost equal in skill to your skater. Should you win you will have not one but two world level figure skaters in your possession,” Otabek says.

“A wager? And you put up yourself as stake? You are indeed bold, mortal! What are you called?” Fortunately, the Queen seems amused, rather than offended at said boldness.

“I go by Qaharman, Cold Queen.”

“Well then, Qaharman, we shall wager,” the Queen states.

“A wager, a wager!” echoes through the Court.

“If my skater recognises you, then you both shall be free of Faerie influence and I will not stop you from returning to the mortal realm,” the Queen says.

“Agreed,” Otabek says.

*

The Court have gathered by the lake shore. Yuri still stands alone on the ice, hands reaching for the sky in supplication. The sight of it still boils Otabek’s blood. Seeing his anger seems to amuse the Winter Queen.

“We shall wake him for you, Qaharman. We are not unsporting, after all,” the Queen says, but there is a cruel edge to her voice. She sweeps with her arm over the ice of the lake, and life returns to Yuri’s form. He lowers his arms and skates over to them.

“Yura!” Otabek exclaims.

“Who are you?” Yuri asks, face utterly blank. Then he turns to the Queen and bows. It is a deep bow. It dawns on Otabek then, the Queen’s game. There was never any bet at all, Yuri is too fully under her thrall.

“What do you require of me, my Queen?” Yuri asks.

“We think you may already have given satisfactory answer, but - do you recognise this… man?” the Queen says. The last part is laced with curdling derision.

“No, my Queen.” Yuri replies, not even looking at Otabek. _My Queen_. To hear that in a, coming from Yuri, eerily impassive and polite tone hurts Otabek.

“That will do,” the Queen says, only now there is a smug note in her voice.

“I of course serve my Queen in all things,” Yuri replies. The Queen turns to Otabek.

“I will have my payment now,” she demands.

“You have yet to allow me to properly try, Cold Queen. Surely you do not expect skaters to communicate with mere words?” Otabek asks. This is a last hope, but if he has come this far then he will not yield until his last breath. “I will need my skates.”

“Hurry then!” the Queen snarls, sharp-toothed and vicious at being contradicted. “Bring the mortal his skates.”


	5. their true love win

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> endings are hard!

Once more Otabek laces up his skates. Again, the dissonance between the familiar action and the alien setting strikes him. This will be the most important performance he ever gives. No competition could compare.

“Good luck, Stupid Human,” the Cat says, and lightly leaps from his shoulders to sit at the shore.

Otabek steps out on the ice.

Otabek skates around Yuri, tries to engage with him through sequences from old programs. Yuri ignores him utterly, present on the ice only at the command of the Winter Queen. Then Otabek segues into his half of a silly pair routine that Yuri and he made up to tease Viktor and Yuuri. They have had a lot of fun with that routine, Yuri and him, but not even that is enough to elicit a reaction. Yuri remains blank.

Otabek glides to a stop in front of the Queen, chest heaving. He has skated his heart out, dashed it on the ice for the whole Court to see. And nothing. He bows his head.

“I suppose this is my answer,” he says. “One last thing, and you may have me, Cold Queen.”

“Please. This has been most diverting,” the Queen allows, gracious in her victory. The Court titters in the background.

Otabek skates over to Yuri, cups his face in his hands and leans in to press his lips to Yuri’s forehead. It is not merely cool under his lips, but burning cold, like kissing ice. A kiss goodbye, because the Queen’s victory means the end of him. Both him and Yuri are doomed to an eternity at this Court, held in thrall, with not even the freedom of their own thoughts. Otabek squeezes his eyes shut and presses his lips a little more firmly against Yuri’s forehead. Then he feels a pulse of heat that radiates from his own forehead go through him. Under his lips Yuri’s skin heats.

“Beka!”

Otabek startles back. This time it is truly Yuri Plisetsky who looks back at him, not the impassive, ensorcelled doll.

“Beka! You came for me!” Yuri exclaims.

“Yura! Yura,” Otabek says, and pulls Yuri closer to him in a hug. They stand like that for several long heartbeats, until Yuri goes stiff in Otabek’s arms. Otabek turns his head to look. The Winter Court has been shocked into silence, but the Fae Queen is in a towering fury. Otabek grabs Yuri’s hand tightly and pulls him slightly behind him.

The Queen jumps to her feet, and begins to gesture with one arm, hand crackling with cold magic. Otabek recognises that motion. It is the same one she used to freeze Yuri after his performance. Beside him Yuri stiffens and Otabek squeezes his hand tighter in his. The Cat leaps up and clings to the Queen’s arm, yowling and clawing at her. It fouls her aim enough that the cold magic misses them by meters. The Queen throws the Cat to the ground and prepares another spell. It lies dazed on the ice before running to them and scampering up to sit on Otabek’s shoulder again.

“Cold Queen!” Otabek calls out, unwilling to approach the shore. “Your skater has recognised me, on your word we are free to go!”

The Queen holds herself tense and resentful for a long moment, before relaxing with the languid grace of a predator. She lets the magic go and smiles her cold razor of a smile again.

“I did indeed promise,” she purrs. “ _I_ will not stop you.” Her smile widens into something cruel and triumphant. Around her the Court has taken her hint and are pulling swords from scabbards or preparing spells of their own. Yuri begins to pull them backwards, skating further out on the lake.

“Beka, come, hurry! It’s not just _her_ , they’re _all_ dangerous!”

“Remember your other gifts,” the Cat hisses at him. And, oh. Oh! Otabek grabs for the little flower that Yekaterina gave him, still skating backwards. He throws it, stem first, towards the shore and it flies like a dart. Where it strikes the ice a great thicket of brambles grows up in a flash, fragrant with pink summer flowers. Luckily it hinders the advance of the Fae knights, and blocks the line of sight for the Fae mages. Less fortunately, the roots of the wildly growing bushes splinter and burst the ice of the lake. Fractures are rapidly forming and shooting towards Otabek and Yuri.

As one Otabek and Yuri turn and skate away from the breaking ice. They are not fast enough. For a while they can avoid the fissures, but then the ice splits all the way down to the water below with a great gunshot crack. Suddenly they are trapped on a tilting ice floe in a fleet of heaving ice floes. They fall.

Yuri grabs desperately for Otabek’s hand and clings. They had let go to gain as much speed as possible when skating, but that is futile now. To make matters worse, the Fae mages have a clear line of sight again, and are slinging spells at them, further upsetting the lurching ice flakes. Inexorably their ice floe tilts and they slide into the freezing inky waters.

*

They come up spluttering in the dirty but blessedly lukewarm water of the river Neva. They are back in St. Petersburg. It is Russian summer. They have made it.

Safe on dry land again, they collapse against each other and laugh giddily, tiredly. They both look like drowned rats and the equally bedraggled Cat is hissing expletives. Yuri is wearing the Fae version of a figure skating costume, a gorgeous thing in shimmering ice blue and silver. They are both wearing skates.

Concerned passers-by help them call a taxi, and even lend them the fare, seeing how they only have the clothes on their bodies. What strange story they will have for their families – the two lunatics who went for a swim in the Neva with their cat, wearing ice skates and clothes. Strange clothes, at that.

Luckily Otabek still at least has the key to the apartment.

*

Otabek hears a key in the lock. Mila? Or maybe even Nikolai? He turns to look and freezes when he sees who… what it is. It is not Yuri. Obviously, it is not Yuri. Yuri is still in the shower, getting clean from their impromptu dip in the Neva. The thing’s resemblance to him is still as disconcerting as ever. But upon closer examination the likeness is not as flawless as before. The thing looks slightly worn, the skin is no longer quite lifelike but has a waxy sheen to it. The eyes are entirely the wrong shade, more poison green than aqua.

“Hello, sugar,” Yuri’s voice lilts out, entirely out of character.

“She swore we’d be free of Faerie influence! Why are… _you_ still here?” Otabek demands. It seems wrong to give that thing as human a pronoun as ‘ _you’_ when it is _not_ a person. It feels even viler than the enraged Fae that they’d left in the Winter Realm.

It tilts the semblance of Yuri’s head sideways, just slightly farther than a human would.

“Oh, but I answer to no mistress. The Winter Queen does not perjure herself. I am a… free agent, as it were. I’m just defending my rights. See, I’ve found this lovely new home,” it purrs and strokes its hands indecently down along the double of Yuri’s chest. “And I would like to keep it. There was nothing in the deed to this high-end piece of real estate about the former occupant returning, now was there?”

It smiles angelically at Otabek, some strange force crackling at its hands, and reaches for him. Letting it touch him seems like a very bad idea. Otabek steps back, and then keeps backing away as the thing advances on him. Otabek doesn’t like to curse but now would be the time. He´s only wearing a borrowed bathrobe, all his clothes in a sopping pile in the bathroom. Otabek bumps into something that wobbles and then falls with a loud crash. He keeps moving, hoping to get to the kitchen where there are knives and a cast-iron frying pan.

“Come, come now, sugar! This is futile. You cannot keep away forever, and you cannot possibly hope to defeat me!” the thing says patronisingly.

“I can try,” Otabek says.

Suddenly Yuri appears behind the thing, straight from the shower, dripping wet and naked. He kicks it in the head in a stunning display of skater agility and the shock of it causes the thing to lose hold of the magic it was gathering. It staggers but keeps to its feet.

“The dagger! Get the dagger from my clothes!” Otabek shouts to Yuri, even as he himself rushes the thing to distract it. It is vital to keep it from focusing on the magic again, and Otabek hits it and keeps hitting. It is so very disconcerting, since it is wearing Yuri’s face.

Then Yuri is past him in a flash, rushing his mirror image. It tries to dodge out of the way, but there is a wet, meaty sound and it stiffens and stumbles, jerking away from Yuri. But not away from the blade stuck in its chest. Yuri has stabbed it with Yekaterina’s dagger, and the skin is sloughing off of it. The thing looks comically shocked, even as it crumples to the floor in a pile of slag smelling of oil and dirty smoke.

Otabek and Yuri stand stock still for a moment, just staring at the remains of the thing that had been wearing Yuri’s shape. It all happened so quickly.

“That- Beka… What? It looked like me-” Yuri stutters out and sinks to his knees. He is still naked and dripping wet. Otabek can hear the shower running in the background, otherwise everything is very quiet. “I- I heard a crash. And I grabbed the dagger from your clothes. And… Beka!”

Otabek kneels face to face with Yuri and hugs him. Just like other times Yuri is stiff at first, but then he melts into Otabek’s embrace. He clutches at Otabek’s borrowed bathrobe and buries his face against Otabek’s shoulder, bare where the robe is slipping open.

“That thing showed up the day after you left,” he says into Yuri’s damp hair. “It fooled everyone. But not me-”

“I’m glad that I killed it then,” Yuri cuts in vindictively. He is shivering, and Otabek curses himself for a fool. Of course Yuri is cold.

“Come on Yura, up you get,” Otabek says as he stands and pulls Yuri to his feet. “You should probably finish your shower.”

Yuri looks down on himself, looks at Otabek, then he blushes absolutely beet red down to his chest. He bolts into the bathroom.

*

Otabek shovels the remains of the shapeshifter into a black bag. Luckily the thing collapsed into slag on the hardwood floor, so the mess is easy to wipe off.

*

Finally, both of them have showered and dressed. Yuri has blushed his way through making them oatmeal, which is the only edible and easy to make food left in the apartment. All the perishables have spoiled. Otabek could swear he had only been gone a few days on his quest to save Yuri, but the news shows it is almost August. He supposes they are lucky they didn’t emerge a hundred years in the future, at least, but it is still unsettling.

There is a line of tension in Yuri’s shoulders. He holds himself stiff, apart. This has noting to do with the blushing, but also everything. In the end it comes down to uncertainty. Time and again Yuri tries to speak but doesn’t seem to know how to express himself.

“You didn’t have to come!” Yuri blurts out in the end, and then looks horrified. “I mean- it was dangerous! And I got into that mess myself! And… thank you, Beka. Thank you. I-”

It hangs unspoken between them, then. What Yuri has refused to acknowledge and now thinks himself unworthy of. What Otabek hasn’t said, for all that it is a hook in his chest, pulling, pulling, pulling. It aches to be this far away. It is also unnecessary, when it is a problem so easily solved.

“I love you, Yuri. Of course I came for you.”

The tension melts from Yuri’s frame and he turns more fully toward Otabek.

“I… I love you too, Otabek.” Yuri answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this fic has been my baby and project for over a year. Please *please* let me know what you think?

**Author's Note:**

> I have been inspired by several awesome fanworks:  
> Water's Edge by Mhalachai,  
> hood & glove by Fahye and hawberries,  
> and (maybe strangely) Crossroad Blues by activevirtues


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